Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Storm Approaches (5)

As Mo Qinghan drew closer to the private room, her steps gradually slowed. No longer did she follow close behind Director Yang; instead, she repeatedly gave way to the classmates behind her. Only when Zhao Qingwu was the sole one left, with no one else to yield to, did Mo Qinghan pause, her back to Zhao Qingwu. Her voice was low, but clear enough for the person behind to hear, “From the moment I learned that San Ye and He Zheyu were one and the same, my heart already belonged to He Zheyu. So please, let me go, and in doing so, set yourself free as well.”

Zhao Qingwu, standing behind her, felt those words, sharp as thorns, pierce deeply into his heart. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could utter a word, Mo Qinghan had already entered the room.

Inside, aside from the faces Mo Qinghan had seen before, there were also He Zheyu, Principal Li, and He Yurou. He Yurou’s face was full of disdain when she saw Mo Qinghan enter. Zhao Qingwu followed closely behind, prompting He Yurou to quickly point to the empty seat next to her, calling out, “Qingwu, over here.” Zhao Qingwu didn’t spare her a glance. Instead, he walked to Director Yang, who was seated beside He Zheyu, and asked, “Director Yang, may I sit next to my brother-in-law?”

Director Yang immediately stood, treating Zhao Qingwu with the utmost respect. “So Mr. He is your brother-in-law!” he exclaimed, hastily making room. “Please, have a seat.” The students nearby shifted one seat over, leaving only the spot beside He Yurou vacant. Mo Qinghan took a deep breath, walked toward that seat, and sat down.

Through the meal, Mo Qinghan remained silent, occasionally glancing at the two men opposite her. Beneath their handsome features, their gazes toward each other were icy cold. Zhao Qingwu deliberately kept pouring drinks for He Zheyu, yet gained nothing himself. The tension between the two was obvious to everyone at the table. Principal Li and Director Yang could only exchange wry smiles, no longer toasting He Zheyu, instead turning their attention to the other students. Feeling the atmosphere stifling, Mo Qinghan excused herself, claiming she needed to use the restroom.

Turning on the tap, Mo Qinghan hoped the cold water would wash away her agitation. As she reached for some tissues to dry her face, He Yurou suddenly entered, handing her a tissue. The gesture caught Mo Qinghan off guard. He Yurou’s lips curled into a slight smile. “Why are you looking at me like that? I might have my grievances with you, but aren’t we still friends?”

Since He Yurou had said as much, it would seem petty for Mo Qinghan to refuse, so she accepted the tissue. The moment the tissue touched her face, a burning pain flared up. Flipping it over, Mo Qinghan found chili oil smeared on it. She tossed it into the trash and quickly rinsed her face with cold water.

“So you hate me that much? You went to all this trouble just to ‘welcome’ me?” Mo Qinghan chuckled at herself.

The restroom was so quiet that one could hear the ventilation fan humming overhead. He Yurou’s fists clenched, her eyes ablaze with fury as she growled, “Yes, I do hate you. Someone as calculating as you shouldn’t exist in this world.”

Mo Qinghan narrowed her eyes, watching the arrogant figure before her, her tone losing all previous civility. “We’re both being dyed in the same vat. You’re hardly as clean as you claim.”

Perhaps He Yurou had noticed the faint red mark on Mo Qinghan’s neck during dinner. She reached out, brushing aside the hair covering Mo Qinghan’s chest, and sneered, “My hands may be dirty, but at least it’s only my heart. As for you, Mo Qinghan, your whole body is tainted.” As she spoke, Mo Qinghan instinctively shifted away, as if her deepest secret had been exposed—worse still, exposed by someone who loathed her. Panic seized her heart.

Seeing Mo Qinghan’s reaction, He Yurou smiled, sensing she had guessed correctly, and pressed on, “I wonder if your terminally ill brother’s medical bills are being earned through such means.” She dragged out the word “earned” with particular emphasis.

Mo Qinghan stood there, silent as a post, unmoved by the taunts. He Yurou’s scornful voice sounded again, “Truly admirable—you’d go this far for a brother who won’t live much longer. It’s almost touching.” She ended with a contemptuous laugh.

Mo Qinghan could stomach any insult He Yurou hurled at her, but not when it concerned Mo Qingyu. If everyone harbored a forbidden scale, then for Mo Qinghan, Mo Qingyu was that untouchable part.